


Dareth Shiral

by Ferus_Domina



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Revenge but not bloody, humans are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferus_Domina/pseuds/Ferus_Domina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Lavellan mourns his clan, and afterwards, exacts revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dareth Shiral

**Author's Note:**

> Reaction fic to a possible ending for "Protect Clan Lavellan and Wycome."

_"...insisted that all they knew was that the elves had rebelled and killed the rightful rulers of the city. This has all been branded a tragic misunderstanding, and the nobles who now rule Wycome insist that they will repay the Inquisition for this horrible mistake."_

From the battlements of Skyhold an unearthly sound is heard. The stones themselves seem to hold the sound for a moment before throwing it back, echoing it out and up into the cold, clear sky. It almost feels as if this ancient place sings the song with him, helping in his grief as best it can. Mahanon sings until his throat hurts from holding back tears. One lone voice to mourn a clan. It should not be this way.

The report is still clenched in his fist, his knuckles white as he holds back the tears that would choke him if he dared to let them out. He has to do this for his clan, he owes them that much. All this power, and he couldn't save even a single one of them. He blames himself, for not sending in the army like Cullen had suggested, and he blames the stupid, violent shemlen, who had probably been looking for an excuse to slaughter a clan of elves without repercussions. He will drink tonight, and he will mourn. He doesn't know if he will ever stop mourning. It feels as if his heart has broken.

Finally the last notes die away. Mahanon climbs down from the parapet and goes back to the war room. He's surprised at the fact that he has not cried yet, and that when he speaks his voice is level. He can feel the tears in his throat, making it tight, begging for release, to be howled into the clear sky. But all this time among the humans has taught him how to control himself that much.

He turns to Josephine, ever ready, ever helpful. "I want the names of every person who participated in the massacre at Wycome. Every single human, no matter how high their rank. I want them _ruined._ I want them to live in misery for the rest of their lives. And I want them to know why. Can you do that for me?" His voice sounds as cold as ice, and he can see his ambassador almost flinch from it. But he's not angry with her. He knows that it's not her fault, not really. But her underling didn't get there in time. So she has to do this for him. This small step, that will not make things right. Even as he gives the order he knows it will not bring his clan back. They have gone to Falon'Din, and he can only hope they will find their way through the veil.

"Yes, Inquisitor. It will take time, but it will be done." He senses that she's glad he's not calling for a reciprocal slaughter. As if that would do anything other than give the shem an excuse to hate him even more, and to visit their own revenge on other Dalish. But he's learned since he's been here. Humans valued strange things, possessions and houses and coin. He will take it from them, he will have them live in hovels. They have offered to pay for the "mistake." Well, they will. They will pay dearly. Perhaps, eventually, the souls of his clan will be at peace.

He leaves the next morning, bow and knives on his back, only looking back once. He has told his companions, his advisers, that he will return. And he will. But none of them are Dalish, and he has a need to be away from them all. To let the wilderness swallow him, even if for a short time. 

A month later and he returns, his skin darker, his clothes slightly ragged, the sorrow still weighing his heart. But he has done what he can, so he feels perhaps he can continue with his work. He's spent the intervening time by himself, out in the Hinterlands, in the Emprise, in the Emerald Graves. There are no bodies for him to bury, but when he stopped for the night he planted trees. It was all he could do. His clan had given their lives in service to humans who did not appreciate it. The least he could do was plant their Vallasdahlen. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be alone, just him and his knives and a bow, though he has spotted Leliana's ravens at times so he knows they're keeping an eye on him. But they let him have his distance, and for that he is grateful.

There's a report on his desk, evidently even when he is gone his advisers must report to him. He almost smiles. The report is written in Josephine's flowing script:  


_"Inquisitor, I was able to obtain the names of everyone involved in the massacre at Wycome. They have been dealt with as you asked. None of the nobles will ever hold land again, all their assets and property have been seized by the Inquisition, they have been barred from every respectable market in Orlais and Ferelden, and any family that might offer them recourse or aid has been notified that we will look upon them with great disfavor should they aid them. I am terribly sorry for your loss, Inquisitor. Know that the Inquisition mourns with you. If you need anything, know that I will always have time for you._

_Josephine"_   


The story will travel, he's sure. Soon enough nobles all over Thedas will have heard the story of the slaughtered clan, and what happened to the nobles who made it happen. He'll make sure that they hear the story right, Leliana can do that for him. He had tried to make them change their minds about Dalish, to realize that they were worthy of respect, that they were good people who deserved their chance. It seems as though not everyone had gotten the message. Well, perhaps fear would work where saving the world had not.


End file.
